


Who Am I?

by percieux



Category: Original Work, The 100 (TV), The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: Essay?, F/M, OC, Original Character - Freeform, Poetry, Schizophrenia, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:13:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3714586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/percieux/pseuds/percieux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, I got inspired with the essay that the Breakfast Club had to write so I decided to make one mixing the characteristics of my oc Briar Jackson and me. Hope you like it :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Am I?

Who am I? Such question stores into the deepest parts of our soul. One truly does not know who he or she is until one becomes who he or she is. However, how can one tell when that transformation happens?

Perhaps the simplest answer to this kind of rhethorical question depends upon the perspective of identity. Identity changes according to the perception one is considering. According to my classmates, I am the deaf girl (although having perfect hearing in the right ear) who sits all too quietly in the back of the class. I am just a girl who passes notes to my troublesome friends, occasionally giggling at some vulgar joke. I am merily a classmate occupying a (sometimes) designated seat, not bothering anyone unless I am the one being bothered.

According to my teachers, I am the one who does not seem to pay attention when in reality does. I am the student who fails or (most of the times) passes exams. I am a person who absorbs the knowledge (be it useful or not) thrown at me. I am a sharp mind. I am intelligence. I am trouble. I am a girl who speaks up when she believes it is time to speak up. Although, some teachers do not agree of the time that I choose to speak up.

According to my friends, I am mischief who dares them to steal that highly expensive candy bar of the store accross school. I am the comedian who cracks jokes that sometimes pass the line between mean and sassy. I am the one who makes snarky sarcastic remarks at their fashion sense.

According to my United Nations Club members, I am the girl who will take no for an answer and strives for persuasion. I am the embodiment of persistance. I am the representation of a delegation who has the right in this situation, and no one is going to convince me otherwise. I am loud, strong, and confident; even when I do not consider myself so with the trembling of my hands and the gut churning in my stomach.

According to my Foresic Club members, I am a sweet, innocent girl in one moment then raging fire and the winds of storms the next as I change the tone of my voice. As I change the expression upon my face. As I manouver my hands, adding exageration on my expressions. I am a voice. I am persuasion. I am a messanger of life, depression, politics, society, media, and so much more. I am so much more.

According to music class, I am a voice as well. However, I am not the same voice as before. I am the voice who flows with melody and rhythm. I am a voice who has a meaning as well but is delivered differently. Here, I am no longer the deaf girl but the angelic sound.

According to my father, I am his little girl who needs to be protected at all time. To do so, his little girl must know how to defend herself, physically and emotionally. I am someone whom he can share stories with, read poems to, sing songs with. I am a person with a soul so pure due to the multiple flaws God has granted me. I am someone who understands the illusions he faces daily. I am the person there whenever he needs me. I am his and only his, and he is mine and only mine.

According to my mother, I am a defect. A matter occupying space, currently converting oxygen into carbon dioxide. Nothing more. Nothing less. Such truth does not affect me anymore, because according to me, she shares the same identity as I to her.

According to my boyfriend, I am the person whom he relies on. I am the person whom he can wrap his arms around. I am the person whom he can kiss when he's feeling down or when he's happy. I am the person whom he can have debates, exchangement of comebacks, jokes with.

According to whom you are considering, I am not the same person. I am a silent night to some. I am a challenge to authority. I am a daredevil to others. I am innoscence one second and raging fire the next. I am a current of lyrics. I am a daughter who possesses eternal love from her father. I am merily one person in a thousand. I am compassion and love to another. My identity shiftes as the wind on a spring day.

This is who I am.


End file.
